Because the folks at Esquire don’t want you to sound like a jackass when talking about booze – and neither do I – they compiled one of the most utilitarian things Miss Wingman has seen in a long time: a guide to pronouncing those tricky scotch names, complete with instructional videos.

(*Let it also be said that Miss Wingman doesn’t want you to look like, dress like, or behave like a jackass as a result of drinking too much booze, either. But that’s a whole other set of rules for a different time.)

Sure, it can be tricky figuring out how where to put the emphasis when you’re saying a brand like “Balvenie” (hint: BAL-venie), or “Glenmorangie” (Glen-MOR-angie), but if you’re having trouble pronouncing “Highland Park,” I think it might be time to cut yourself off.

Granted, not all men drink scotch. Not all men like wagyu kobe beef or C-cups, either. I get it. It’s a matter of taste, and if you want to be un-American, that’s on you, bro. But if you do have a penchant for a smoky single malt or a 15-year blended, it behooves you to at least know how to say it.

Just don’t be the dude who calls out the notes in his drink. Using words like “peaty” and “robust” will immediately make us lose whatever the female version of a hard on is for you, because ‘douchelord’ isn’t sexy. But still, what you drink says a lot about who you are as a person. So at the very least, let who you are be a guy who knows how to pronounce “An Cnoc.” And “Caol Ila.” And for god’s sake, “Laphroaig.” The bartender (and your date) will thank you for it.ETIQUETTE WINGMAN

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Because someone out there understands the struggle – and has way, way more time on their hands than I do – this video parody of the Tinder dating app has just surfaced. (Also, if you didn’t know what Tinder was without the description, what the eff are you doing on this site?)

While I have little doubt that the people who made this gem will get it picked up as a series, I have even less doubt that dudes like “Trent,” the human embodiment of Goldman fin-ANCE smugness, will ever cease to exist in Manhattan. I know guys like him. I’ve dated guys like him. Hell, make that five.

Never has their been a more spot on representation of the gaping self awareness chasm between people who are on a date where one person thinks it’s going well, and the other person is wondering if their butter knife is sharp enough to open up a vein.

I have so many favorite lines in this (“Now, is that volunteer?”/ “Honestly, I just assumed they had a separate Timber for each borough”/ “It’s like watching a water bed, ughh”), but you can choose your own. It’s pretty long (that’s what she said), but so worth the watch.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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Because nothing’s more appealing than waking up with “dead arm” or peeling her face off of your sweaty chest, now you have even more reason to spoon your woman while you sleep. Or at least, be forced to sleep in some cuddle-like formation. Why? Because science, duh.

Researchers at the University of Hertfordshire (admit it, it sounds way more sophisticated than where you went to school) surveyed 1,000 couples about their sleeping positions, and what they found was that 94% of couples who slept touching one another were happy in their relationships, while a measly 68% of couples who didn’t sleep touching each other reported being satisfied in their relationships.

What’s more, of the couples who said they sleep with less than an inch separation from their partner, 86% of them said they were happy, while only 66% of couples who admitted to sleeping “more than 30 inches from their partner” reported being happy in their relationships.

So basically, spoon us, motherf*%#ers. Or else.

What’s so compelling about this study, other than the fact that way too many people are sleeping with nearly 3 feet between them – seriously, is one of you in a loft? are there bunkbeds? please explain – is that the most popular sleeping position for couples is back to back.

Granted, Miss Wingman doesn’t have a PhD in behavioral science, but maybe this is part of the reason why so many marriages end in divorce. As someone who has been in a past relationship where my partner literally did not acknowledge my physical presence while we slept, I can attest to the physical-distance-to-emotional-distance correlation. When the person you share a bed with doesn’t even throw the occasional arm over you or pull you in close, it makes you feel cold – in a way that pulling the covers up around you won’t fix.

So even though I’ve extolled the virtues of not cuddling us too much before (seriously, there’s a fine line between affection and neediness), allow me to make one caveat – especially while you sleep. Or wake up. Morning sex is pretty stellar, too (so I hear, in case you’re reading this, Mom).

Best case scenario, it ends in a little unexpected romp. Worst case, she complains about you poking her in the back. Either way, it doesn’t require much of you to just reach out.

If you’re lucky enough to be sleeping next to someone you care about, who may or may not be naked in case you need an added incentive, you’re luckier than you think. And your touch could be more meaningful than you think, too. Then you can rest easy knowing that your partner feels really, really loved.GEEK WINGMAN

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Happy MLB Opening Day, Wingman faithful! Since this day makes me almost as giddy as March Madness at large, and since everyone’s brackets have long since been shot to hell anyway, I thought I’d shift my focus to America’s favorite pastime. No, not baseball – proposing at a baseball game.

Because every girl dreams of the most romantic moment of her life being staged at a place where your feet stick to the floor and the line for the ladies room is roughly 45 women deep. Naturally.

Even though Miss Wingman has extolled the virtues of how NOT to propose before (many times), if you absolutely must ignore my advice and put a ring on it during the 7th inning stretch, the folks at Swimmingly have broken down how much it will cost you to pop the question at every major league baseball stadium.

I know it’s called a baseball diamond, people, but perhaps we’re taking it a little too literally here.

Prices for a major league proposal range from $38.50 at the Pittsburgh Pirates’ PNC Park (not surprising, since Pittsburgh is pretty much the Keystone Light of baseball franchises), to $2,500 at Dodger Stadium or a $1,500 package offered by the Washington Nationals, who’re keeping the tradition alive of our nation’s capital absolutely screwing people, financially or otherwise. Keep it classy, L.A. And D.C. fans, may I suggest a Caps game instead…

Unless you and your beloved have some deep sentimental connection to the ball field, I fail to see how a supremely unoriginal proposal idea is worth any amount of money. But if you’re an Orioles, Royals, Blue Jays, Angels or Mets fan, you needn’t worry about it anyway, because proposals aren’t even offered on your home field.

Then again, if you’re a Mets fan, you’ve probably got bigger things to worry about. It would’ve been nice to see someone NOT strike out in your stadium for once, though. Maybe next year.GEEK WINGMAN

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If all my exes lived in Texas, like the song says, I’d be stoked. But unfortunately for this New Yorker, (almost) all of my exes live in Manhattan.


But now I can stop living in perpetual fear that I’ll run into one of them on the 6 train whilst looking post-workout ugly (or worse, when they’re with The Woman Who Came After), because some dudes developed a new location-based avoidance app called Cloak. No, not “Cloak & Dagger” – I wish – that’d be even more awesome.

Billed as the “Anti-Social Network,” Cloak allows you to dodge exes, frenemies, or your coworkers when you’re playing hooky by combing their Instagram and Foursquare accounts for places they’ve recently checked in or taken photos. Cloak stores their profiles and notes your own location and proximity.

If you’re in danger of an unexpected face-to-face, the app sends you a warning message when the user comes within a certain radius. Then voila! You’re free to hightail it across town and immediately start sending, “Oh man, that would’ve sucked!” texts to all your bros. Crisis averted.

So who’re the minds behind this stealthy masterpiece? Developers Brian Moore and Chris Baker, and it was Moore who became fed up after running into his ex four times upon moving to NYC. Ouch. But, since being proactive is always better than reactive, Moore decided this city wasn’t big enough for both of them (Amen, brotha), and set about fixing it.

Granted, even though I’m on good terms with my exes – well, some of them, and some of them I’d just as soon lived on Mars instead of Manhattan – the idea of avoiding awkward encounters sounds good, but it can also be a double-edged sword.

On the one hand, it’s natural to want to pare down the amount of social ambushing we experience on any given day. Hell, I’ve started hiding half the people in my newsfeed lately because of their incessant oversharing. In that sense, eliminating drama makes total sense.

On the other hand, how one handles themselves when they’re confronted with these unexpected run-ins reveals a lot about their character. Sure, lobbing a grapefruit at someone who wronged you after you spot them in the produce section at Whole Foods seems appealing, but you’ll learn a lot more about yourself if you take a deep breath and just deal with it.

Eh, on second thought scratch that. Some faces are best just never to be seen again, high road or not. Avoid away, my friends.

The app has yet to integrate Facebook posts or Tweets into their geolocation tool, but it is currently available to iOS users. So if you’re gunning to ditch the shades and hoodie disguise but still want to retreat further from society, here’s your chance, gentlemen.

Just remember that in a world where technology plays genie in the bottle to our every whim, think twice before you digitally disappear. If it’s invisibility you seek, be careful what you wish for.GEEK WINGMAN

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In arguably the most ridiculous story to emerge lately, the crackerjack team of journalists over at the New York Post just released, “Hipster Wannabes Get Facial Hair Implants,” where they try to convince the rest of us that dudes everywhere are digging this new “trend” in male grooming.

Hang on a second, I have to finish snort-laughing…

OK, I’m done now. The verdict’s still out on what part of this article is more implausible – the fact that they claim that men are rushing to plunk down $8G’s for a procedure designed to make beards appear fuller and less patchy, or that they want us to believe that Brooklyn guys are leading the charge. Specifically, dudes in Williamsburg, Park Slope and Bushwick. In other words, the same neighborhoods where dudes will give you side eye for ordering a bourgie drink instead of a $2 Schlitz or some obscure German craft beer no one’s ever heard of (because PBR’s for mainstreamers and bros, duh.)

True, a quick stroll around the B-K will confirm that every dude looks like a Mumford & Sons/Brawny Man hybrid, complete with requisite facial scruff, but still – no one’s buying that the trend flourishes there. Or that it’s even a trend. Just because Brooklyn’s the epicenter of non-conformity cloaked in conformist, buffalo plaid clothes, doesn’t mean you can leverage it for your own plastic surgeon-subsidized agenda, NY Post and DNA Info. I never thought I’d say this, but  leave the hipsters alone.


Further, I’ve never heard any female lament that a dude’s forest of facial hair wasn’t lush enough, or that it’s patchy. Ever. Most of us don’t care whether your beard is James Franco in “Pineapple Express” deficient or not – in fact beards tear the hell out of our delicate skin. Entire businesses have been created to prevent such chafing (The Soft Goat, anyone?), so why would we buy that men are follicle freaking out on our accounts?

Because “Beards are an important male identifier,” according to a plastic surgeon sleeping with the writer the medical expert quoted. Wouldn’t that contradict the idea that Brooklyn is the home of facial hair implant zealotry, since men there wear jeans designed to fit 12-year-old girls? That’s right, Post. Nailed it.

In the event any of you were contemplating joining the “2 or 3″ men a week (a soaring population!) who’ve been jumping on the bespoke beard bandwagon, perhaps it’s better to think twice. Eight thousand dollars is a steep price to pay to look rugged. And besides, think of how much Schlitz you could buy with that money…DAPPER WINGMAN

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Just what we needed – another way to turn the friendly skies into the borderline-creepy skies.

As if Virgin Airlines’ attempt at mile-high macking on the girl 3 rows back wasn’t enough (they’ve previously offered people the option of buying a drink for other passengers via their media controllers), now you can roll up on your fellow fliers even harder. Well, so long as you remain seated while the fasten seatbelt sign is illuminated, at least.

Spot a smokeshow on your flight and wanna know if she’s single? (Say it with me now, all together…) “There’s an app for that.” Introducing Wingman, the newest way to get some nookie on that early morning connection to Houston. Or Chicago. Or anywhere else with a major airport.

So how does it work? Wingman users create a profile, complete with photo, flight number and details like whether they’re traveling for business or, ahem, pleasure (ba dum bum). Then they’re connected with others who’ve downloaded the app and are on the same flight, and voila! They’re free to swipe left or right and start chatting.

The upside? Wingman works over Bluetooth, so if your airline’s Wi-Fi notoriously sucks (I’m looking at you, Southwest), it’s no sweat.

The downside? Wingman isn’t cleared for takeoff yet, but as soon as Apple’s ironclad app store signs off on it, you can ditch your usual go-to airplane pickup line (No, I would not like to borrow your copy of Sky Mall, thanks) and get to digital flirting.


Granted, Tinder’s usually lazy wait time for users to pull the trigger and actually message each other should be circumvented by the fact that, with Wingman, you only have the length of your flight to make a love connection. Possible pitfalls? The odds of multiple people on your 150-person flight A) having the app and B) actually being desirable could be slim, so you might have more luck with that cute flight attendant, but I guess only time will tell.

So pack some breath mints in that carryon the next time you fly, and with any luck you won’t have to rely on the latest Bradley Cooper flick to entertain you for four hours. Buckle up, stretch your legs (or, you know…don’t), and for the love of God, lose the neck pillow.THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID

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